Away From the Sun: The New Era:1
by SomeDays
Summary: After the death of Katniss Everdeen, 50 years after she became the spark for the rebellion. There was no one left to hold back the President of Panem. That is why she has brought back a new law. Once again, the odds are not in our favour. Welcome to 1st Hunger Games of 'The New Era'
1. Prologue: Part 1

**A/N:** Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night everyone! I present to you my new Hunger Games series. This series will be called 'The New Era' and it is my take on the idea that the games are re-established again many years (50 years) after Katniss and Peeta.

If anyone here has read my story 'The Capitols Message' I like looking at how things would have changed over time. So things are different and by 'things' I mean Districts. There is an explanation to the Districts on my profile! There will be two parts to the prologue. Both will probably be published before the end of 'The Capitols Message' but I will not be starting the reapings until it is over. (I don't think)

Anyway, hope you enjoy this prologue.

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'I'm so far down, away from the sun again'- Away From the Sun- 3 doors down.

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**Peeta Mellark **

**Co-Victor of the 74th Hunger Games**

**The streets of District 12 **

I hardly recognise myself anymore. I am no longer that blonde boy from District 12; the boy with the bread. My hand caresses my wrinkled cheek. My skin's texture feels like old, crinkled leather. My once blonde hair is now a dirty grey colour and my eyes have lost the brightness they once held. I take a deep breath and shake the thoughts from my mind. I didn't come here to contemplate my appearance. I grab the black tie which is draped around my neck and I try to tie it. My hands threaten to shake but I hold them still. I refuse to allow my age to overcome me.

"Dad?" My beautiful daughter's voice hits me by surprise and I look at her. She looks so much like her mother, with her dark brown hair and seam grey eyes. Her hand rests on a round baby bump like a protective glove. She is dressed in all black for the occasion, a colour I have never seen her in before. She crosses the room to meet me and takes the tie from my hands and ties it.

I don't resist, this is something Katniss always used to do for me despite my ability to tie my own tie. Her eyes meet mine and I can see the sadness which fills them. I frown a little and embrace her. My daughter is now 36 years old but I still saw her as the little girl who unknowingly played on a graveyard. Now, she is having her fourth child. All of her children have escaped the horrors I had to experience as a child. They had their grandmother to thank for that. She was the one who made the freedom we share now possible.

"Come on," her hand wraps itself around my own and her cheeks lift weakly into a smile. "They are waiting for us." I don't want to keep my wife waiting.

...

My head and my chest are held high and proud as I walk through the District behind my wife's coffin. I hold my hands in fists to control my strength. I refuse to be seen as a weak old man: A widower. Cold skin brushes against my knuckles gently and a soft and innocent young face stares up at me. Her pale face is pink from the cold and I resist every urge I have to pick her up and wrap her in my warmth.

"It's okay grandpa," my granddaughter whispers gently as she slips her hand in between my fist. I am forced to relax my clutch and take her hand. My grandchildren have the ability to make me relax in times of sadness. It is something I am sure I will be appreciative of in the years to come.

...

I stand alone as Katniss' coffin is lowered into the ground. The priest's prayers echo in my mind in a blur and I can hardly make out what he is saying. My son-in-law is holding my daughter around the waist as she cries into his shoulder. He really has been fantastic today and I don't know why I started out disliking him all those years ago. Some of my grandchildren are too young to understand what this means. Their wide eyes stare down at the coffin as they wonder where their grandma is going and when she is coming back.

When I look up, I see a man in a bright white suit stood by a tree. It catches me by surprise and I have to retain a gasp. For a second, I think it is a peacekeeper; the evil police of my past. But then, my tiered eyes focus on his face and I see another ghost from my past.

Gale Hawthorne is at her funeral.

He is a lot older than he was the last time I saw him but his features remain the same. He still has them familiar seam grey eyes and his face still holds the serious expression it always seemed to hold. The only thing that is different is the creases in his face, displaying his age.

...

After the burial is over, I walk over to the man. "White? Really?" I say as I try to cancel out the annoyance in my voice.

Gale shrugged his heavy shoulders. "I actually didn't come for the funeral. I came to speak to you," he says. I notice something abnormal about his gaze. His eyes aren't quite looking in my eyes, they are looking past them as if his thoughts are in other places.

"Then, speak," I say.

He lets out a deep sigh and pushes his hands into his pockets. "It has become clear that President Low was only sticking to the original plans for Panem because of his loyalty to." He stops talking and looks away completely as if he is struggling to complete his sentence. "To your wife," he finally continues. "He has brought back The Hunger Games, the first reaping will be held in two weeks."

I feel my heart stop and my hands become moist. Did I really just hear what I think I heard? President Low was bringing back the one event my wife and I fought to demolish. The thing many innocent people gave their lives for. My eyes rest on my four grandchildren as they giggle innocently among themselves. "They can't," I mumble. I can't allow my beautiful grandchildren go through what I had to go through every year of my teenage life.

"From what I hear President Low is excluding District 12, so your grandchildren should be safe." The second the words leave his mouth my body relaxes and I sigh in relief. "But they want you and your children to be mentors for this year's tributes. All existing tributes and existing children of tributes are being called for the mentoring job."

My eyes widen and I feel my entire body go on shut down. I was receiving all of this information too quickly.

Mentoring was something I was able to miss out on during my time with The Hunger Games. Now, I have to go back and do it. I will have to watch children I am responsible for die at the hands of another child. I know I will just see my own children and grandchildren when they are being slaughtered.

The games are back. It is a nightmare coming true. This time, I doubt the event will be extinguished as easily as it was fifty years ago. They will have precautions in place.

Our achievements in the rebellion have long run out. No one is safe. Innocent children will die.

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**A/N- **So, what do you think of part 1 of the prolouge? Reviews are very much appreciated.

Also, I will be writing this story in 1st person present tense. I like playing around with my tenses and narrations to see which one I like best. So far, I am liking this one! :)

The form will be on my profile as well as any information you may need. I am not doing a first come first served thing for this. I will only accept tributes I think are well thought out and tributes that are presented in a good amount of detail.

In case I didn't make it clear...this is the first hunger games in 50 years...it returned so yeah...

Till next time! Bye!


	2. Prologue: Part 2

...

* * *

"…and put's me back, into the arms that care about the ones like me."

(3 doors down- Away From the Sun)

* * *

**Effie Trinket **

**District 1 Trainstation**

'Now you can join in the fun.' 'Take the honour'. 'It's back'.

The propaganda surrounds me and threatens to choke me as I wait at the crowded train station. My arms are folded and my foot taps impatiently against the marble floor. I look around and people are actually smiling. Some are even excited for what's to come. It's preposterous. If my husband was around to see this, he would be running around kicking some sense into these young hooligans. I sigh in frustration.

"Are you okay mum?" my son asks me. He looks at me with concerned eyes. He was not around when the games were but he understands the impact they will have on us all. My husband use to tell him stories of when he was in the hunger games. He would tell him how he fought for survival against many other children. Jared used to stare up at him with large gleeful eyes. I would thank the rebels in my prayers every night. Thank them that Jared was safe. I am just thankful that Jared has remained childless. Now I won't have to watch a relation of mine die in these sick games.

"Where is this train?" I demand. "Does no one keep the time anymore?"

I think back to my youth. I only escorted a few tributes in my time but I was one of the best time keepers around. I watch as my son's lips twitch. He offers his hand out to me and I take it. My hands really show my age. I have had a number of surgeries over the years in order to sustain my youth but there isn't much you can do to stop your hands from aging.

With a blow of a whistle, our train pulls into the station.

...

His face is as hard as stone. His eyes show deep despair. This isn't the Peeta Mellark I once knew. He stands by the bar, a pint of beer clutched firmly in his grasp. I don't blame him. I understand what he is going through. I also lost a loved one.

"Effie," he says as he nods his head in recognition. I give a small smile and I introduce my son. Neither of them have met each other before. The two victors and I were separated a long time ago.

"Nice to meet you Jared," Peeta says as the two men share a firm and welcoming handshake. I take this time to look around the cabin. There are eleven of us here. I'm guessing we're all here for the same reason, mentoring. I recognise a few faces. Enobria, the District 2 victor who was one of the few surviving victors, is sat in a wheelchair by the window. No one looks particularly young. In fact, it is quite possible Jared is the youngest here.

"Thank you everyone for coming here today," her crisp voice comes from behind me. I slowly turn my head to see her. President Low looks like your average District 13 citizen. Her jet-black hair is gelled back. It appears as though it is stuck to her scalp with glue. A bold line of golden eyeliner surrounds her eyes and she is dressed head-to-toe in black. It is clear they are still keeping the anti-capitol appearance after all these years. It looks utterly ridiculous. She walks unsteadily in her high heels over to the seating area and we all follow her. A smirk appears on my lips, I can walk in heals better than someone almost half my age.

A handsome man in his fifties stands up and offers me his seat. I raise my brow at him and shake my head. "I can stand," I say. He quickly sits back down. I hate being 'old' and I hate people seeing me that way.

"As you probably know by now, I am bringing back the hunger games and I want all of you to be mentors. The games will be carried out in a similar format as they were fifty years ago, it worked that way. But the reapings will be different, no amateur gathering but an individual decision, an individual experience," she says. She speaks with speed. My tiring ears struggle to keep up.

"And how do you plan to do that?" a woman says. I do not recognise this woman. She must be in her early sixties and it is clear that she hasn't had any procedures to halt her aging.

"That isn't important," she says sharply. It is clear that President Low is not fond of whoever this woman is. Maybe she is from District 11? President Low sighs in frustration before clapping her hands twice in the air.

Two men enter the cabin, dressed in black armour which is decorated with a gold pattern. They hand out what appear to be leaflets. They shove mine in my hand. Written on the front of the leaflet is 'How to be a mentor'. This causes a man, who I can only assume to be Peeta's son, to chuckle. I have to agree, it is quite ridiculous. I turn over the front page of the leaflet and written in large letters at the top of the page is 'District 1'.

So I'm the mentor for District 1? Figures.

"You have a week to read up on your roles as mentors and then reaping will occur." She then leaves without any further comment.

I roll my eyes. "May be the odds be ever in our favour," I whisper to myself.

* * *

**Tribute list**

District 1 Female (Capitol citizens): Catalina Lux- 17 years old (gamemaker99)  
Disrtict 1 Male (Capitol citizens): Valiant Granterson- 15 years old (Axe Smelling God)

District 2 Female: Nikita ''Kita'' Nightengale- 16 years old (xSakura-Kissesx)  
Disrtict 2 Male: Rowan D'Souza- 18 years old (W.E.B.P)

District 3 Female: Liealia Quinn- 17 years old (DwellInDream1019)  
Disrtict 3 Male: Matthew Harrison- 17 years old (ZeroToAero)

District 4 Female: Ripple Spears- 17 years old (gamemaker99)  
Disrtict 4 Male: - Hero Stormer - 17 years old (Emberwind8)

District 5 Female: Cassandra Holt- 17 years old ( Beauty. Is .Strange)  
Disrtict 5 Male: Ander Jacobson - 14 years old (EmpressSavyy98)

District 6 Female: Charmaine Kellstone - 16 years old (DwellInDreams1019)  
Disrtict 6 Male: Charlestone Kaelin - 16 years old (carriedaway88)

District 7 Female: Tarren Minx - 18 years old(hollowman96)  
Disrtict 7 Male: Urijah Smith- 18 years old (hollowman96)

District 8 Female: India Blair- 15 years old (butterflygirl99)  
Disrtict 8 Male: Rocko Warner - 16 years old (Christoph Andretti)

District 9 Female: Rose Wingate - 17 years old (Emberwind8)  
Disrtict 9 Male: Tiger Angel- 18 years old (runasfastasyoucan)

District 10 Female: Rosemary Wolfe- 17 years old( Beauty. Is .Strange)  
Disrtict 10 Male: Samson Stavros- 18 years old (jacob1106)

District 11 Female (Criminals/Rebels): Hannelore Winston- 14 years old (W.E.B.P)  
Disrtict 11 Male (Criminals/Rebels): Nicklaus Nesh - 18 years old ( runasfastasyoucan)

* * *

**A/N:**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please tell me what you think of it in a review. Effie is a really difficult to portray in writing so I'd love to know how I did.

Also, I have the tributes page up on my blog now. I'd love you to have a look, I have a sentence or two about them so I'd love to know your initial thoughts on the tributes. Who stands out etc?


	3. Wherever: Reapings Part 1

...

* * *

(Wherever you will go- The Calling)

* * *

**Wherever- Reapings part 1**

* * *

_..._

**Vivenne Brennon (Head Stylist)**

I position the brush at the inner corner of her blue eye and sweep it along bottom in one swift movement. It leaves a trail of golden glitter which causes her eyes to glow in the ambient light.

"Must I really wear gold?" Sandra asks as I dip the eyeliner brush in the golden liquid again.

I flick my eyes up to her and give her a look which clearly answers her question. She is speaking to the girl who has a gold band tattooed around her head and scrapes her hair back with golden hairspray. Of course she has to wear gold. I sweep the gold under her other eye and smile at my work. This amateur now looks like a proper District 13 citizen, despite the fact her hair isn't scraped back off her face, but that can be forgiven.

I place my brush down on the tray beside me. True art has been created here today. Art is created here everyday. Alongside my team of dedicated workers, I am able to create spectacular masterpieces which are ready to be shown to the world.

If only I could get a hand on President Low.

"Do you think this is right?" Sandra asks in a hushed tone. This catches me by surprise and I study her face for moment, wondering what she is asking me. "All of this. Do you think it is moral? Bringing back the games," she continues.

I look away awkwardly. It's never safe to think about such questions in a place like District 13. Sure, no would be listening into our conversations but if those higher than us found out, it would be silly to just worry about our jobs.

"Of course," I say, "they deserve it."

Do they? All of the tributes will be younger than me. I shake the thought from my head and begin to put my equipment away. I can't afford to think about such things. Right now, I had to watch the reapings and begin designing dresses for the tributes. That's my job. I can leave the politics to someone else.

"Miss Proeitti , you're on," a voice comes from the over-head speaker. Sandra stands up and I help her with her chest mic. She then walks up the stairs. It is her job to sentence twenty three children to their death. Fun job. The television in the room switches itself on. I quickly sit down, cross my legs and prepare to take notes. This is the first hunger games, the outfits have to make a lasting impression, one which is remembered for years to come.

I want to follow the basic theme of the old games but I want to make them better. I want all of them to be as grand as Katniss Everdeen's. No silly tree trunks or coal miners for me. The Hunger Games are having an upgrade and so are these outfits.

_District 1 _

"50 years ago. The Hunger Games were able to bring peace and power. They were a social event across Panem, bringing us icons like Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark and Enobria Jensen. Now, they are back." Sandra's voice echoes over a dark screen. I find myself already engaged. Suddenly a montage of archive clips from the old games burst onto the screen and I am in awe. I watch as tributes run towards the cornucopia in desperation. I watch as tributes slaughter one another. It's terrible but at the same time, I can't stop watching it. "The arena is ready, the mentors are ready. Now, we just need the tributes. Who will they be? It's time to find out."

Sandra finally appears on the screen in a close up, behind her is a dark wall which has the symbol for each participating District on it. Sandra's smile is large, bright and completely fake. No one is going to buy her false excitement and that could end up being quite a problem. "Welcome one and all to the reapings of the first Hunger Games of the new era! Where I, Sandra Proeitti will be reaping your tributes. Each District has two bowls, a girl bowl and boy bowl. I am going to start at the very beginning with District 1, so let's get this reaping on the way!"

I quickly grab my folder from the table and flick through it until I get to District 1. Covering the page is a collage of costumes from the old games which really inspire me. For example, during the fourty-sixth hunger games, both tributes wore a cape made purely out of rubies, it was genius. The screen zooms into the District 1 symbol. Then, Sandra's hand is shown, swirling around through thousands of pieces of paper. Finally, she picks one.

"The female tribute for District 1 is...Catalina Lux!"

The television shows a girl with dark hair which appears to be supporting blue undertones. How fascinating. Well that eliminates over half of the colours, no yellow, no pink and no red. I guess the recreation of the ruby cape will have to wait. The girl appears to be shell shocked and she doesn't seem to be moving. She just stares at the camera with her jaw dropped and her eyes wide.

I quickly forget her motionless state and revert my thoughts back to her appearance. I often hate it when someone's hair is in their face, but Catalina's fringe suits her well. It will stay. Unless my eyes deceive me, I think her eyes are also blue. That only calls for one thing, her chariot dress must be blue.

I sigh as I look down at the one word on my notepad 'blue'. Blue doesn't exactly scream 'luxury' to me. I tap my pen against the arm of my chair as I browse my inspiration pictures. Suddenly, a list of words flutters through my mind 'geometric', 'angles, 'avant-garde'. I scribble the words down in excitement. This was off to a grand start.

Now, it does not matter who the male tribute is. They will simply wear the male version of what Catalina will be wearing. It is a little rule I have. The male outfit is always designed to complement the female outfit, no matter what. I glance up to the screen to see a boy with the most beautiful golden hair. My eyes light up the minute I see this and I begin to envy this young boy. Yes, he will look perfect in my design, golden hair goes with everything.

"Oh, someone has pressed the button!" My heart skips a beat. This is so exhilarating. "Congratulations Valiant Granterson!"

The boy who is on screen is on his own, I assume he's in his bedroom. The first thing I notice is how well designed his room is. The wallpaper is both beautiful and masculine, a golden frame surrounds a large, open window. The boy, who appears to be younger than the first boy at around fifteen years old, stares at his hand. Suddenly, the door bursts open and a man and woman run into his room, their faces are red with anger. Not a good look.

I wonder what could have made a fifteen year old boy volunteer for The Hunger Games. He's going to be leaving what he has at home and there is a possibility he may never return. Who would want to do that? I'm automatically intrigued by this boy, the first ever volunteer for The Hunger Games.

"I'm having District one," I announce as I turn to my team who are all sharing a glass of wine. I design all of the dresses but I can not dress all twelve Districts. I will dress District one. I want to learn more about this boy and his ambitions for the games. He's a rather average looking individual but I can make him look magnificent.

* * *

"If I could turn back time,

I'll go wherever you will go."

* * *

...

**District 1 Male**

**Valiant Granterson (15 years old)**

As I push the red button at the corner of my television. I am aware that I could be pushing my life away.

I did not plan on volunteering but as that message appeared at the corner of my screen saying, 'press this button if you wish to volunteer'. I did. I close my eyes and look away. There isn't any turning back now. I have made my decision. I know why I pressed that button. I wouldn't have done it if I didn't have a reason. I wanted to escape this life. I wanted to escape my parents and their boring lifestyle. I saw this opportunity and I took it. The storm of feet echoes around the house as my parents run up the stairs. I prepare myself for my father's temper.

"What the _f***?!_" My father's temper has gotten the better of him. He is on the television and the entirety of Panem is watching him right now. To say he is a respected man across Panem, this isn't very good. I don't listen to what they shout, I couldn't care less. I fold my arms and glance around my room. I am going into the hunger games and there is nothing he can do about it.

There is a loud knock at the door and my mother goes and answers it by my father's command. She is quite passive when it comes to my father, always doing as he says. It makes me sick.

It doesn't take long for two policemen to enter my room. Each one takes one of my arms as if I am some criminal. In all fairness, I am. This isn't the first time I have been held like this by the police.

I had spent my time in jail a couple of years back with the charge of manslaughter. My girlfriend at the time had died after falling from a balcony. I had caused her death.

"Well, I hope you're happy, you're going to die," my father says. His eyes are narrowed in disappointment. He's right; I am most likely going to die. At least I will be away from them. I am taken down the spiral staircase. On our way out, my mother touches my arm. I look at her and I see the sadness in her eyes. She cares about me, I know that but she will always be my father's slave. I give her a weak smile as I leave.

"You have the right to say goodbye to any one person you wish to. Is there anyone?" The policeman on my left asks me. I shake my head in answer. I have my friends but the one person I would want to say goodbye to is already dead. We walk towards the train station. The streets are relatively quiet. A few people are watching out of their windows with curious faces. They are probably grateful that it isn't someone in their household who is going into the hunger games.

"V!" I hear someone shout. I turn my head to see Grant running down the street towards us. I have known Grant almost all my life, yet this is the first time I have heard him shout so loudly. He comes to halt beside us. The policemen don't seem too happy with this as they force me to continue walkig. He begins to jog beside me to catch up.

"Get in with the careers," he says, "pretend you have trained. Pretend you are one of them. They'll believe you, you're from one after all." It is clear he is running out of breath as he speaks.

His advice seemed quite unthought-out to begin with but it soon grows on me. If I am in with the big guys, they won't try to kill me. I shake my head, it will never work. I don't even know whether the careers still exist. They could have died out a long time ago.

I nod. "Thank you Grant," I say. He smiles at me and then stops running. I turn to see him slowly fade away in the morning fog.

I can see the large crowd of people at the train station the minute we turn onto the same road. I can see that my district partner is already down there. They are flashing pictures of her like crazy. I sigh; I really don't want to do this.

The minute they see me, they run towards me like a swarm of bees. I quickly put my head down and turn away from their cameras. I don't want any of this publicity. I just want to get away from District 1.

"Valiant!" "Valiant, over here!" The crowd shouts. I quickly break free of the policemen's grip and I run towards the train, past my district partner. I know they are chasing me but I refuse to answer them. I just want to escape this nonsense. I grab hold of the metal bar and jump onto the train. The immediate silence overwhelms me.

I walk further into the train, some people are talking. I walk into the main room to see an elderly woman with bright pink-curly hair. I frown, capitol originals disgust me. I walk over to the bar and pour myself a drink without asking permission. I then down it.

"Young man! That's for the adults!" the woman spits. I shrug my shoulders and throw myself onto a chair. I do hope this woman doesn't try to control me like my parents did. I can tell her now, she won't be successful. I won't listen to her and her 'advice'. I doubt she even knows what she is talking about.

"Get me away from here," I say.

Whatever happens from now on has to be better than my old boring life.

It is something new and hopefully, it will be something exciting.

* * *

**Vivenne Brennon (Head Stylist)**

Apparently even The Hunger Games has advertisements every two minutes.

I guess most of the adverts are hunger games related but there are still the annoying breakfast cereal adverts. I stand up and walk over to my team. This is like a party for them; they don't have any work to be doing.

"Someone get me a drink," I sigh. Someone quickly pours me a glass of champagne and I take a drink. One thing I can not complain about is the free drinks. They will certainly come in handy over the next few weeks.

Before I know it, the hunger games theme tune plays over the same montage of archive clips. I quick-walk back to my seat and sit down with my drink. I flick through my folder until I arrive at the next District, District 2, notorious for the bloodthirsty tributes with a ridiculous amount of strength. Let's see whether anything has changed throughout the years.

_District 2_

"It's time for the District 2 reapings. Throughout the old games, District 2 had the largest amount of victors and the biggest number of volunteers. Collectively they held the highest average training score of 9.9. Will they be able to live up their ancestor's name?" Sandra says and the camera zooms into the District 2 symbol.

It appears Sandra wishes to draw out the tension this time, her hand digs deeper into the bowl. I can feel the time ticking away and however much I want to, I cannot look away from the screen. Finally, she chooses a name.

"The female tribute for District 2 is... Pleione Baxwoll," she announces. They don't show this girl, instead Sandra just stands there as if she is waiting. It's almost as if they are expecting a volunteer. Soon, her eyes light up and she nods her head. I wonder whether they had a technical glitch or something as her face seems to, all of a sudden, come alive. "We have a volunteer! Congratulations Nikita Nightengale."

They show Nikita in a room with her family who all seem proud of what her daughter just did. However, there is something in her awkward smile and her clenched fists which suggest insecurity to me. I shake my head; those details don't matter to me. I begin to analyse her appearance.

She has long blonde hair and eyes which remind me of blue crystals. I want something which will draw attention to her eyes but I still want it to relate to her district. I am thinking of an armour which is made out of silver, and a head piece which causes her eyes shine out to the crowd. I definitely need to think it out more but at least I have a starting point. At least I know what I want. I scribble down my notes and begin sketching out a rough design.

District 2 is definitely a difficult District to design for. It's tempting to just make an outfit out of bricks but that would just be boring. I remember seeing a picture somewhere of District 2's chariot outfits in the 22nd Hunger games. They literally just built a brick wall around the tributes. I can imagine it was difficult to get out of that afterwards.

"We have another volunteer!" I look up at the screen just as they show a large boy who's around eighteen years old. He is smiling proudly at the screen with his arms crossed in front of his chest. I can't help but smile, this boy is good-looking and he knows how to present himself.

"Ooh, Viv's got a crush," one of my team members says in a joking tone. It is clear he has already had a glass of wine too many. I shake my head and look away. I'm allowed to admire a boy's appearance. Aren't I? It's not like I'm old enough to be his mother. I'm only a year or two older than him.

"You're drunk Lucas," I say before sketching out his costume in my notepad. Maybe he can have a bit of his chest showing.

It would definitely attract the ladies and it would present his muscular strength.

Yes a little bit chest wouldn't hurt anybody.."

* * *

"Well I hope there's someone out there

Who can bring me back to you."

* * *

**District 2 Male**

**Rowan D'Souza (18 years old)**

I roll my shoulders back and stare right at the camera with a strong and confident smile on my face. I know this pride won't last. My girlfriend will be here as soon as possible. Before the reapings, she had tried to convince me out of volunteering. I wasn't really listening to what she had to say and to keep her happy, I said I wouldn't. Of course, I was lying. Why wold I not volunteer? It's what I have wanted to do since I was a child and now the games have returned in my last eligible year. It was a sign. I will have approximately two minutes before Calytrix runs through my front door. Until then, I will just be surrounded by my proud family who are excited to see me win The Hunger Games.

"Congrats," my uncle says to me. He stands up and pats me on my shoulder. My uncle is only three years older than me so, he is more of a best friend than an uncle. He is someone I will truly miss during the games.

The front door swings open and in comes my girlfriend. Despite her fury she is still beautiful. I smile at her and open my arms out to her for an embrace but instead, all I get is a slap across my face. I wince. For a moment there, I forgot she also trained for the games, she's strong. My family are quick to stand up from their chairs.

"You're an absolute idiot Rowan, I told you not to volunteer!" she shouts.

Anger boils up inside of me. I don't get what her problem is, "Y-Y-Yeah, well I v-volunteered! Two years ago, y-you would have done the exact same, w-w-what's your problem?" I shout back. My knuckles clench together. I have never been so angry at her before.

Two policemen walk through my front door, "Mr D'Souza?"

"O-one minute!" I shout. They quickly walk back outside. I can only imagine how angry I must look right now.

"What if you don't come back?" Calytrix says to me. I shake my head now she's just being ridiculous. I doubt there will be many more strong careers in the games and Nikita will be an easy kill for me. I have beaten her every single time at the academy. "I need you to come back." Unless I am mistaken, tears begin to fill her eyes. I have never seen her cry before and I have known her almost all my life. I frown and take her into the kitchen, out of my families ear shot.

"What's wrong?" I ask. My voice is still stern and sharp but I no longer shout. I am actually quite concerned.

She looks away from me and bites her lip. She usually did this to be seductive but this time it appears to be out of fear. She suddenly looks me right in the eye and says, "I'm pregnant."

It's as if the world has stopped turning and time has stood still. My girlfriend is pregnant and I guess it's my baby. No, I know it's my baby; Calytrix is not the type of person to sleep around. I am going to be father. A list of responsibilities run through my head and it overwhelms me. I can't handle it. I look away from her and run my hands through my hair.

That's why she had been so insistent. "I'm so stupid," I mutter. On the off chance I don't win the games, who's going to help Calytrix with the baby? I soon feel a lump form in my throat but I refuse to let it show. I will not cry. I feel her hand reach up to my shoulder and I just let her place her comforting, warm hand there.

"Mr D'Souza, we must go," a masculine voice says.

I nod my head reluctantly."Just give me one more minute," I say. I then turn to Calytrix, cup her face in my hands and I kiss her. The feeling of her lips against mine causes my heart beat to quicken. This could possibly be the last kiss we share. I can't let it be. I have to return to her. This is all my fault and I have to put it right.

I feel someone's arms pull me away and our lips part. I look into her eyes and try to escape the grasp of the policeman. I no longer want to go. I want to stay.

"Whatever happens, tell our child I tried. Tell them I love them," I say as I am dragged away. I don't love our child. How can I love someone who is the size of my thumb? But I am sure I will love them one day and my baby deserves to know that.

Calytrix runs to the door and looks at me, "I love you," she calls.

I catch her eyesight and I smile weakly, "I love you too." I then stop struggling. I walk with them with my shoulders back and my head held high. I now have to pretend that everything is okay. I can't let them know my secret.

I am a career, there is nothing more to it. If I believe that, then everyone else will believe it.

But, let's face it. No one is _just_ a career. Everyone has their story. Everyone has their secrets. The difference between careers and tributes is that we don't advertise our stories to the world.

We're just here to fight. We're just here to win.

* * *

""Who will be there to take my place."

* * *

**District 3 Female **

**Liealia Quinn (17 years old)**

This door gets more and more stiff each and every day. I push against the broken, wooden door with my back as I try to enter our run-down house. My arms are full of groceries. Finally, the door opens and I almost fall to the floor. My boyfriend, Munro, is stood behind the door. Bags fill the area underneath his eye and his skin is ghostly-white. If it wasn't for his standing-position and beating heart, you would have thought he was dead.

"What are you doing out of bed?" I ask sternly.

He lifts his heavy shoulders before wandering back over to the couch. "It looked like you needed help," he mumbles under his breath.

I roll my eyes, "It looked like you needed help," I mimic in a nonsensical voice. It is how he sounds half of the time. I sigh and dip a cloth under the cold water. It isn't half as cold as it needs to be but it has to do. "Just because you're sick doesn't mean you have to speak so lazily," I say as I walk over to him, "all you do is lie down all day anyway."

He is just lying on the couch, staring at the wooden roof. He appears to be drawing the outlines of the wooden planks with his eyes. It must be a boring life for a home-bound teenager. I place the cloth over his head and sigh. The worst thing about all of this is; his illness is easily treatable, it just costs too much money. I gently kiss his cheek and sigh. Why is it that the one good thing in my life, ended up being broken?

I stand up and walk over to the television which was only installed last week. It looks rather out of place in this dump. All around the room are pieces of furniture I found lying around at the dumping ground. It is all old and rather unpleasant-smelling. But now, there is this high-tech gadget sitting in the centre of the room. It is very weird.

Suddenly, the television comes on and I raise my brow at it. I guess it's time for the reapings.

"District 3! The District of electricity and knowledge. Many times during the old games, District 3 reminded the Districts that intelligence was just as important as strength. It had the fourth largest amount of victors after District 7. Will they gain victory again? It's time for the reapings," the voice says. I walk over to couch and perch on the arm. It's all ridiculous really, District 3 weren't going to win. If I had to put my money on a winning district, I'd say District four. I bet it's all fixed. The kids who were going into the games from my District were doomed to die.

The woman takes a long time to chose a slip. It's obviously an act. She couldn't care less who she picks. She just wants a good show and by a 'good show', I mean death. Murder in ice cold blood. District 13 say they are better than what the capitol were but, they are just as bad. In fact, they are worse. They pretended to be good until their symbol of peace, the Mockingjay, died. Now, their true and evil colours are showing.

The woman finally picks a slip of paper, "The female tribute for District 3 is... Liealia Quinn!"

I stare at the television in shock. That's my name. I shake my head and a laugh suddenly erupts from my mouth. Of course it's me. How f***ing brilliant. I glance over at my boyfriend, tears run down his cheeks but no sound escapes his mouth. His eyes look up at me as if it is the last time he is going to see me. It might be. No, it will be.

"I have one lucky life don't I?" I say sarcastically and I hold his hand. I was left at an orphanage at a very young age. When I was finally granted a home, they returned me. The couldn't cope with my attitude. When I found someone who made me happy, Munro, he became ill. Now that I am dealing with all of that, I am going to be shipped off to my death. I bet the whole world is jealous of me right now.

He smiles weakly and wipes at his eyes. His hands are so cold and pale. Who is going to look after him when I'm gone? If I win, which I won't, I will be able to afford his cure. But, I won't win, I will die and he will die alone in this decaying house. Life isn't fair.

I look up at the screen just as they show my District partner. I think they said his name was Matthew. He skinny with rather long, shaggy brown hair. He just stares grimly at the screen. I can't see him lasting long. Maybe I will live longer than him. That would be nice. The door is forced open by two police officers and they trip inside. I smirk at myself.

"Miss Quinn?" one of them says. I don't answer, I just look back down at my boyfriend. I don't want to leave him. "Miss Quinn?" The repeat. Then, one of them grabs my arms.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming," I say and then, I stand up. Best get this nonsense over and done with.

* * *

"Runaway with my heart,

Runaway with my hope,

Runaway with my love."

* * *

**...**

**District 11 Male **

**Niklaus Nesh (18 years old)**

**...**

_Two years earlier _

The policemen are so oblivious of the fact their death awaits them. There is just ten more minutes until their body parts are scattered across the district. I feel the corners of my lips twitch as I watch them through the tinted windows. It is as if they are statues, they stand motionless in a single line. The wooden door creaks open and Kianna sneaks in.

"It's all set," she says. She takes a plastic band and gathers her golden-blonde hair at the back of her skull and ties it. I smile a little, she is beautiful and she is all mine.

"Perfect" I say and take her hand. There's a black bruise under her left eye. I frown, why hasn't she covered it up? People may investigate into it. I shake my head. I should just leave it. I don't want to create any further bruising on her face.

"Does it hurt?" I ask as I run my thumb over the black area.

She shrugs her shoulders, "not really."

"Well, if you had just listened to me in the first place, this wouldn't have happened," I say simply. It's true, it's not my fault. She made me angry. It doesn't matter anyway, she still loves me.

She nods her head and then walks over to the controls. This would be our last murder. I'm going to miss it. It's been a fun couple of years but it has to end. I created a game, I never left any evidence at the scene but I always left a clue. The citizens of District 2 are just too stupid to work them out.

"Shall we?" she asks. I nod and walk over.

I place my hand on the button, "three, two," I close my eyes, "one."

It doesn't take me long to realise that something isn't quite right. It all happens so fast. I press the button. There is a bright light outside the window. The window smashes. Kianna screams. I am thrown off my feet.

The bl***y woman set the bombs out wrong! I sit up and brush the shards of glass off me. Luckily the glass hasn't left me with any injuries. I groan and clench my fists together. Anger boils in my blood.

"Niklaus," she moans. She sounds as if she is in pain. I quickly look over to her and see a piece of glass poking out of her chest. Her blue shirt is stained with blood. My eyes widen and I run over to her. It seems to have just missed her lungs but it's still in there deep.

"They're in there!" I hear someone shout from a distance. They've worked it out. I look to the back window. I would have just enough time to jump out of that window and be far enough away that they'd never suspect me. They'd probably just find Kianna guilty.

"Go," Kianna's weak voice says. I look down at her and shake my head, I won't be leaving her anytime soon.

A man wearing a black suit runs into the room holding a gun. "Over here!" he calls. The same man aims his gun towards us and I just wait. He shoots and I feel the pain immediately. Only, he has missed. He hit my arm. I cringe and hold my arm. Kianna's hand falls limp in my own. I turn to see that she is dead. The same bullet which ran through my arm, ran through her neck.

I stare at her in disbelief, she is dead. My eyes seem to catch on fire and I begin to shake in anger. How can she be dead? Water drips down my cheek but I don't wipe it away. My vision soon becomes blurry from the water which fills them. I am crying. This is the first time I have cried since I stopped sh**ing my pants. They grab me and I begin to struggle against their grasp.

"No!" I yell as I try to reach for Kianna. I love her. I actually love her but, I never got the chance to tell her.

"Kianna," I whisper.

_Present day_

My thumb runs over the circular scar on my arm. It is a constant reminder of that fatal night. What may have been my destiny but ended up being my girlfriend's. Not that it mattered, I was going to die anyway. In six months, I will have my public execution. They will finally kill the most ingenious murderer of their time.

Well, the joke's on them. They made it so I survived to see the first reaping. I will volunteer today. If I win, they won't be able to touch me. If I lose, someone else has killed me. Not them. I won't let them kill me like they killed Kianna. I got her revenge. I killed her murderer on my way to District 11. It was the most satisfactory murder ever.

"Nikaous," a guard says as he unlocks my cage.

I move my blonde fringe out of my face and smirk at him. It is time to ruin everyone's plans. This is fun.

* * *

"...I'll go wherever you will go."

* * *

A/N-I hope you like the random song lyrics. I tried to make them relate to the tribute and the POV but...it's not always very possible. Oh well- sorry for the late update, I've had exams and computer issues and I'm not accustomed to writing 6,000 words for a chapter, I usually write like 1,000 or 2,000 :P

**Review questions! (because they are always fun :')) **

**1) Which tribute is your favourite out of these four and why?**

**2) What do you think of Vivenne's POV?**

Hey all! So, if you're wondering why I didn't do D1,2, 3 and 4. It's because I didn't want the two career districts in the same chapter, I want to spread them abit. District 4 should be in the fourth reapings chapter! Sorry if that seems unstructured to you but ohwell! You got D11 early!


	4. Eyes Open: Reapings Part 2

**A/N:** I despise putting A/Ns at the beginning. So, I'll make it short. I forgot to mention last time that the way the reapings happen are different, obviously. You probably know how I made them now but just in case, every household has a TV installed, it has a red button on it. The reapings occur in the safety of their own house. If someone wants to volunteer, they press the red button, okay? Good.

* * *

'Everybody's waiting'

(Eyes open- Taylor swift)

* * *

**Frederick Low (Head- game maker)**

It is like a frenzy. Tributes barge into one another as they desperately run towards the large and golden cornucopia. A muscular female tribute swings around a mace and it hits a number of tributes. Blood splatters on the ground and chilling screams echo from the children which survived the encounter. Some get up and run whilst others lie down and await their death. I watch closely as another tribute slowly cuts another tributes throat as he begs for mercy. There wasn't any mercy in these games. Torture and murder surround the area for a good half an hour until it is just the career pack which stands by the bodies. They have done well this year.

I love it.

The current games on screen are the fifty-second hunger games. The arena was based in an old, mountain side camp-site. This was a failed arena and the main reason for it failing was because of the arenas size, it was rather small and the games were over in a matter of days. For the past two months I have been watching every single game from start to finish. My sister says I have become obsessed, it is quite true. I have become obsessed with creating the most perfect, bloodthirsty arena in history.

"That doesn't look like the reapings," my mother's voice pulls my attention away from the screen. She is stood at the entrance of the room, the usually locked white doors are held open by her elbow. Her eyebrow is raised in questioning.

I begin to scratch my elbow awkwardly, "I-I was just uh-" I have never been good under pressure, especially when it's my mother questioning me. "Computer, show the reapings," I finally order. The computer is quick to abide by my commands and the reapings are shown on screen. I am just in time to see the tributes of District four shake hands. My mother's shoes tap against the floor as she walks over to me. I do not look at her, even when I can feel her hand smoothing over my shoulder.

"Do as you're told Frederick," she whispers in my ear. Her voice is icy and cold. It sends a shiver down my spine. I began to fear my mother the moment the news of the mockingjays death hit District 13. She suddenly turned from a considerate ruler and mother to an evil queen. I don't doubt that she would have me killed if anything goes wrong in the games. I may be her son, but I am also her subject. I am disposable.

I nod my head, "yes mother," I say. She then touches her cold lips to my cheek before leaving, the haunting clack of her shoes following her.

I let out a defeated sigh. I have no need to watch the reapings. I don't care about who the tributes are; they are just a number on a piece of paper. I walk over to large glass table and expand the arena map. It is something I have great pride in. It is something which will confuse the tributes and it could cause them to literally run into their own death. They won't be able to see what is coming for them.

This arena may have its faults but it will be interesting and it will be an arena to remember. I am confident that my mother will love it. I extend the arena outwards slightly, making it bigger. Every time I watch an old game, I make adjustments to the arena. Anything I learn from the old games and why they failed will be helpful to me.

It will do it's job in reminding the tributes why they are here. Why the games are back and who is in charge.

I look up at the screen just as I hear them announce the names for the tributes from District 5, 'Cassandra Holt and Ander Jacobson'. They are now halfway through the reapings so they show a montage of the current tributes. I watch intently, it could be helpful to get a general gist. The two tributes from District 1 seem decent enough. I'm not one-hundred percent sure about the one with blue hair but she could make it past day one at least.

The District 2 tributes both seem like contenders, they both volunteered and they both seem strong and confident about their chance of winning. District 4 seems quite the same as District 2 in that way. It appears they have continued their legacy.

No matter what, I hope they are all ready for what is to come. There has never been an arena so dark.

* * *

'Everybody's watching'

* * *

**District 5 Female**

**Cassandra Holt (17 years old)**

_Two years ago_

I hold the knife in my hand as I slowly sway it back and forth. It is just a simple kitchen knife which I have sharpened on a rock. Any form of weapons are illegal in the Districts but we find ways around the rules. I aim for my prey, the grey rabbit which sits obliviously on the bright and healthy green grass. Its little pink nose wiggles as it sits, causing it's whiskers to move with it. I swing the knife back and forward one last time before I let it go. It circles through the air until it hits the rabbit in the chest. It collapses in that moment and dark red blood pours out of its little body.

I walk over to the animal, retrieve my knife and I cleanse it with a white cloth I had brought out with me. It isn't the most thrilling thing to do, killing animals and I don't enjoy it but it's something I have to do.

I remember trying to find a way to gain money. I had just lost both of my parents within a year of each other and I was stuck with my one year old brother to look after. I had to find a way to get food. That was when I found Katniss Everdeen. I was reading a book about her, how she used to hunt for animals. She became my inspiration and I began to hunt like she used to, only, with knives rather than a bow and arrow I find them much easier to use and control.

"Hey!" I hear someone shout and my heart pauses in an instant.

I look up to see a man in black armour running towards me. I have been caught. I grab my knife and begin to panic. He's going to hurt me. He's going to arrest me. I have my brother, Roland, to think about. My heart rate speeds up and I feel my breath becoming heavier. The man grabs my arm and I quickly, without giving myself time to thin, stab him in the neck, where the skin is bare. My eyes widen as he drops to the ground, clutching his neck and gagging on his own blood. My head whips around the area, no one saw anything.

I begin to run, leaving the entire scene behind me. I have to distance myself from it. No one can ever know what has happened here today.

It must stay a secret.

_Present Day_

"I don't want to get changed," Roland says as he crosses his arms. There is the biggest pout on his young face.

I sigh."The reapings will be in an hour. You can't wear your pj's," I say, "now, get changed." I point at the clothes which are lay out on his bed, a small, plain white shirt and blue jeans. He has had them for almost two years, since he was three years old. They finally fit him perfectly.

He sighs "okay." I smile weakly, Roland is a trouble-causer, but he understands that I'm only seventeen years old myself and it's hard for me. I watch him struggle with opening the buttons on his shirt. I have to bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. He has gotten to the age where he tries to do things like this for himself but he still struggles. I kneel beside him and help him. He'll learn how to do it one day.

Bree walks into the room, "are you two okay?" she asks. Bree is my best friend, she has been so helpful in the past few years, always ensuring that I was okay with raising Roland and that I wasn't getting myself too stressed about it. I honestly don't know how I would have coped without her.

I nod my head. "Yeah," I say, "we're fine."

Together, we help Roland change into his outfit. He kind of reminds me of my father; both had the same tanned skin and brown hair. I miss my father quite a lot. He was the one who was able to calm my mother down after I told her of my sexuality. She had freaked out quite a bit and even threatened to kick me out. Instead, she just decided to have another kid and look where we are today. My dad was the kind of person who would crack a joke every time he got the chance to. He was always smiling and often laughing. He loved me no matter what and he knew I was still his little girl. I would do anything to have him back here with me.

...

I stare at the television screen with wide eyes. They had just called out my name. It was me. I am going into the Hunger Games. I hadn't even thought much about it. I had prepared for the reaping itself but I never prepared for myself getting reaped. My brother looks up at me with confusion washed over his face. He doesn't understand what this means, why my name was called on the TV. He doesn't understand that I'm going into the Hunger Games and it is rather unlikely that I will return. At least I know Bree will be here to look after him and she won't let him starve.

"Ooh there's a volunteer!" A boy has just volunteered for the strong looking eighteen year old that is on screen. I don't understand why someone has volunteered for him, he seemed like he could have easily have won.

The boy who is now shown is called 'Ander Jacobson' and it seems like he really shouldn't have volunteered. The boy is about fifteen years old. He is small, gangly and really doesn't look like much. His hair is black in colour, quite like Bree's hair and his eyes are striking and blue. What was he thinking? My district partner doesn't stand a chance but, maybe I do.

I can hunt. Just like Katniss Everdeen, my idol.

She won the hunger games. Maybe I can follow in her footsteps.

I can only hope.

* * *

'Yesterday we were children

Playing soldiers'

* * *

**District 4 Male**

**Hero Stormer (17 years old)**

The warm sun shines down on my bare chest as I jog along the beach of District 4. It warms my skin and causes it tingle. Sand manages to get into my trainers and between my toes. It feels uncomfortable but I have to resist every urge I have to take my shoes off. I have to push through any mediocre un-comfort I may have and focus on the goal. Today, my goal is the red flag close to the harbour. But, in a matter of days, it will be victory in the hunger games.

One of my main weaknesses is my speed and so that is what I have to focus on improving. I was rather slow and that was mainly to do with my large and muscular physique. Still, jogging along the beach is a must in order to sustain strength. Sometimes, I fail to understand why not everyone did it.

Finally, I reach the large red flag and I lean against its pole. I smile as I look up at the sky, sweat dropping down from my forehead. It's an extremely hot day today.

"Hey, you!" A female voice calls. I look around to see a girl walking towards me in a swimming costume. I find myself having to focus my eyes on her face. I can't let my eyes wander. I lean up from the pole and give her a friendly smile. "Are you Hero? The guy who is volunteering today?" she asks.

I nod my head, "that would be me. At your service." I give a small bow towards her.

Unfortunately, the girl doesn't seem to be a least bit amused by my charm. She just folds her arms around her chest. Again, I have to force myself to not look down, she is really drawing my attention to that area and it really isn't fair. I have Calliope to think of. "Well, I'm Ripple and I will be your District partner," she says.

I nod my head. "Awesome," I say. She begins to talk about who she is and what she plans to do in the games. I don't really pay attention as my eyes are set on someone else, a beautiful girl walking along the path. She has the most beautiful golden hair. I quickly snap back to Ripple and place my hand on her shoulder to stop her from speaking. "Nice to meet you and all but I really have to go. I'll speak to you on the stage," I grin and then I run to catch up with girl of my dreams.

"Calliope!" I call. She turns around and I almost run into her. I let out a breathy laugh. "Sorry," I whisper. She is quick to take a step back away from me and my bare chest. "Let's walk," I say. Without letting her answer, I begin to walk in the direction she was heading in, despite it being in completely opposite direction to my house.

I watch her as we walk. She is focusing on wrapping her beautiful hair around her finger. Her pale cheeks become more pink with every step. It's cute. "You're beautiful," I whisper. She looks up at me with a surprised face. Calliope, despite her beauty, was very outspoken and I think I may be her only friend. It is quite saddening because I think she's the most stunning girl in all of District 4.

"W-what?" she asks. Her voice is very quiet and it is almost inaudible.

I chuckle and look her in the eye, the beautiful blue eyes which always remind me of the ocean. I could get lost in them for weeks."I said 'you're beautiful'." She still doesn't appear to believe my words. She doesn't look at me and she lightly lifts her shoulders in a shrug. I stop walking and grab a hold her hand. "Miss er...Calliope, please tell me you are very aware of my feelings for you." Her eyes widen and she shakes her head as she quickly averts her eyes away from mine. "Well, I like you Calliope," I say with a certain amount of confidence in my voice.

She bites her lip and I hear a small giggle escaping her lips, "and I thought you were just talking to me out of pity," she says. I raise my brow, why would she think that? She seems to be in deep thought and I try to lean into her view to grab her attention. It doesn't work. Suddenly her expression becomes sad as if an upsetting thought has crossed her mind. I wonder what it could be. She messes with one of her bracelets and takes it off. She places it in my hand. "Take it with you in the games, for looks," she says quietly. "See you later," she says before she walks off.

I am stuck with a large grin on my face. I can imagine I look completely ridiculous right now but I don't care. She is perfect. She is wonderful. The bracelet she gave me is a simple brown colour and it seems to have been woven. I quickly fix it onto my wrist before I begin to walk home, along the narrow, wooden path by the beach.

It is time for the moment I have been waiting for my entire life.

* * *

'But now we've stepped into a cruel world'

* * *

**District 6 Female**

**Charmaine Kellstone (16 years old)**

My clenched fist hits the rubber glove with power and my other fist soon follows. I repeat this process a number of times until my father chuckles and tells me to stop. He takes off the gloves and throws them to the side. His face is painted with pride and I find myself smiling back at him. Today is the reapings, I have been taught about the old games ever since I was a young girl and I know how dangerous they are. I can't risk it, I have to ensure I'm tough enough if I get reaped. It is always a possibility.

"Are you okay?" my father asks me. I look up to him, it appears that I had become lost in my own thoughts.

I nod my head, "Of course," I say. I untie my hair and let the blonde locks flow down my shoulders. It's time to look like the privileged rich girl once more. My parents always new that because of my spoilt nature, there was a possibility that I may have become naive but they never allowed that to happen. They taught me about the horrors of the world and they taught me how to defend myself.

My father walks over to the red, silk sofa and he sits down. I follow him and sit next him. "There is the smallest chance that you will get reaped today but, if you do..." he grabbed a book out of the small bookcase which sits beside the sofa. He hands it to me. It is a green book which has 'The Hunger Games Victors' in the gold writing on the front. "Page 206," he says.

I turn to that page and the words at the top of the page read 'Johanna Mason'. I look up at my dad in questioning. What is this? I have already read this book three times. Johanna Mason was the girl who won the hunger games by pretending to be weak but then she surprised everyone in the finale.

"Do what she did," he says with a serious face. "People will presume you are weak by your looks, just go with it."

I smile as I look down at the page. Johanna Mason has always been one of my favourite victors. She's quite an inspiration. She proved that the element of surprise can bring you victory. She managed to kill a male career who had the highest training score that year with an eleven. She just got a three. She pretended to be worse than she was. People forgot about her. They let her live because she wasn't a threat to them. How wrong they were.

I grinned up at my father, "Okay, deal."

"You two! Breakfast is ready!" my mother's voice calls from downstairs. I hand the book back to my father before walking downstairs for breakfast.

...

We are having eggs, bacon and toast for breakfast. The taste of the food is blissful in my mouth. I am aware that some people have half a slice of bread for breakfast, some not even that but my family have worked hard for their money. My father has been in charge of an entire District for the past twenty years.

"So, what have you two been doing up there?" my mother asks.

My father shrugs as he cuts up his slice of bacon. "I was just preparing her for the reapings, just in case..."

"She's not going to be reaped," my mother says sharply, cutting my father off. My mother is the only person in the world who can interrupt the mayor and get away with it, without even receiving an evil glare. I chuckle silently as I fill my fork with some egg. However, I can't help but think that being reaped is a possibility. I have my name in the minimum amount of times for a sixteen year old but I still have my name in there. It is still possible for someone to pick my name out of that bowl. If it doesn't happen this year, it could happen next year or the year after that.

"Mother, he's right, it could happen," I say, "but it's okay. I will be able to fight because dad has taught me. I'm not a weak little girl."

My mother nods her head as she looks down at her food, "you're right. Please excuse me," she says. Then, she stands up and leaves the table. I slowly shake my head and look down again. She has no need to worry, the chances of me being reaped are low and if I do, I at least stand a chance.  
She shouldn't give up so easily.

* * *

'Every lesson forms a new scar'

* * *

**District 7 Male**

**Urijah Smith (18 years old)**

My hands press against the window sill as I look out at the park. A young girl plays in the sunshine. Her little legs waddle around on the grass as she tries to chase a little butterfly. Her curiosity of the world has already come into play. That girl is my daughter but, I don't even know her name. The girl manages to trip over her own feet and she falls into the soil. She doesn't cry, she just looks up with a shocked face as if she is confused as to how she ended up on the floor.

I smirk to myself as I turn around and walk to the punch bag which hangs from the ceiling in the centre of the room. My clenched fist hits the fabric with power, a tingling and vibrating sensation runs up my wrist as I clench my jaw. I hold the bag still until it stops swinging.

The reapings should be on soon and I know what I have to do. I think back to the day I left my daughter's mother, Kayla. I was only fifteen years old and she was pregnant with my baby. The idea scared me. I have regretted that decision ever since. I want to help raise my little girl but, I don't have the money. The Hunger Games will give me that money. I have never really done my research into the games but, as far as I'm aware, I just need to kill 23 kids. How hard can it be?

The television in my room switches itself on and I crack my knuckles in preparation. The woman with a full black fringe speaks and I listen in silence. She talks about how District 7 did quite well during the Hunger Games. I was not aware of that but it doesn't surprise me. The build up for the female tribute to be reaped is unnecessary and idiotic.

Finally, the woman chooses a name, "the female tribute for District 7 is... Tarren Minx! Congratulations Tarren!"

The girl who appears on screen is...hot. There isn't really any other way to describe her. She has brown hair and brown eyes, not that I am looking at her face, my attention is drawn to the area below her face. She has rather nice...assets. I shake my head and look away. Whatever, I will snap that pretty neck of hers during the games. I will run a knife down her arm and watch as she begs for mercy. She won't get any. I have to become victorious and to do that, she will have to die.

"The male tribute for District 7 is..." I don't even let her finish. I press that button as hard as I can. My teeth grit together as I do so. "Oh! That's eager, uh- we have a volunteer. Congratulations Urijah Smith!"

I stare at the television screen and wait. What do I do now? Am I meant to go anywhere? None of this had been explained to me yet. Suddenly, a message appears on screen saying 'stay there'. So I do. I sit on my bed and grip the edge of my covers. I am prepared to get my hands dirty. I am prepared to return home and raise my daughter.

...

"You have the right to say goodbye to any one person you wish to, anyone?" The policemen asked me. I shake my head. There's no one who would want to say goodbye to me. I am a nobody in the grand scheme of things.

"I would like to say goodbye to him," a woman's voice says. I recognise her voice immediately. I turn on my heal to see Kayla smirking at me, "if that's okay," she says. I look up at the two policemen and they boy shrug their shoulders at each other. Before I know it, I am being directed back into my house, followed by Kayla.

The men stay outside and the door shut with a bang behind Kayla. My head whips around faster than it ever has before. Kayla's face reminds me of a mutt, ready to pounce at its prey. I look away awkwardly and run my hand through my hair. I can imagine that I had a similar face when she told me about her pregnancy three years ago. She approaches me and before I know it, her hand slaps my skin and a burning sensation appears on my cheek. I clench my jaw and show no reaction. I deserved that slap.

"How f***ing dare you! You left me to raise our daughter alone!" she shouts. She then begins to speak through her teeth as if I'm not even worth her efforts to open her mouth. "She doesn't even know who you are. She's two years old and she doesn't know who her father is. You've not even been brave enough to face me. Hiding all the time. You're a coward!" She then begins to throw punches at me but, I don't fight back. I just take it. Everything she's just said is completely true. She is in the right.

I close my eyes and just stand there. "I bet you don't even know her name! It's Laela by the way!" I've always wondered what her name is.

"Hey!" I hear a loud, hollowing male voice shout. The punches begin to stop and I open my eyes to see Kayla being dragged away by the men.

The hatred in her eyes is like a sharp knife cutting my skin. "I hate you! I hope you f***ing die!" she screams. And then she throws something down in front of me, a small piece of paper.

I pick it up just as she is dragged out of the house. It's a picture of my daughter, she is beautiful. Her smile is able to light up the district. Her dark hair is tied up into two buns either side of her head. I can't help but smile at the picture of little Laela.

* * *

**'**Keep your eyes open'

* * *

**A/N-**

Next chapter will be the last of the reapings with more District 4, District 8, District 9 and District 10.

District 4 was in this chapter as well because, in order to keep chapters equal and interesting, District 4 aren't having a train ride POV, so both tributes are having a reaping POV.

By the way, I chose to show a POV for Frederick to give some clues about the arena. That was the main goal of his POV.

**Questions!**

**1)**** Who is your favourite out of these three tributes? Why? **

**2) Did you like Frederick's POV? There was originally a second bit but it became boring. ****Hence why there is just one POV.**

**3) Any guesses on the arena? **


	5. Shake: Reapings Part 3

...

* * *

"And I'm damned if I do and I'm damned if I don't..."

(Shake it out- Florence and the Machine)

* * *

**District 4 Female**

**Ripple Spears (17 years old)**

I was always the girl who stood in the shadows. I was the forgotten career who no one really paid much attention to. No one had spoken of their shock when I announced my desire to volunteer but I could see it written in their faces, the way they raised an eyebrow or opened their mouth or the way they glanced at their friend and whispered in their ear. It must have come as even more of a shock when I was accepted alongside Hero.

I do enjoy being a girl who is always over-looked. It allows me to have that element of surprise. I can act as a 'weak career' and when the time is right, I can let my strength show.

"Nice to meet you but I really have to go, speak to you later," Hero says before running off like a love-struck lunatic. I saw how he got distracted by that pretty little girl. I hope he doesn't get so easily distracted in the games.

I sigh, pick up my towel and begin to dry my hair though the bright sun has already done most of the work for me.

A cheer explodes from down on the deck, "Catch!"

I turn to see my father yanking a decent sized fish from the sea and I can't help but chuckle at his pride. I would be more than happy to stay down here with my father, join him and his friends with their fishing and take a few more dips in the water but I am sure that my mother has other plans. She will be helping me prepare for the reapings. That means dresses and makeup, not exactly '_my cup of tea' _as my mother would say. Coincidently, I don't particularly like tea either.

I pull the towel around my chest and slip my feet into my wooden sandals before heading home.

"Oops," I mutter under my breath as I examine myself in my simple blue romper.

The outfit itself looks fine, (I'm actually grateful I was allowed to avoid wearing a dress) but it appears that I have caught the sun a little on my shoulders. I'm sure my mother won't be all too pleased about my red shoulders but – _oh well. _

My token for the games hangs on a simple, black jewellery stand by the side of my bed. It is a stand one of my mother's parents had given me a few years ago. I'm not really a fan of it but it does its job at keeping my necklace untangled. I walk over to the stand and retrieve my token; it is a simple gold necklace with a dolphin chain. It isn't exactly a stereotypical career token. At least it isn't from what I have read. They usually went for something like a leather band with 'victory' engraved in it. Many had attempted to smuggle poison or weapons into the games, hiding them within their token. They were often caught.

I chose mine because I liked it. It reminds me of the sea, of swimming and fishing. It reminds me of home. It reminds me of me.

"Ripple? Are you ready darling? The reapings will start in ten minutes." My mother says.

I turn to see her stood by my door, a gentle smile on her face which was also filled pride. I strived to see that pride in her face. I want to please both of my parents. That's the main reason I am volunteering today, to see their smiles when I return home on that train.

"Can you help me with my necklace?" I ask. She nods, walks over to me and clips the necklace behind my neck.

"There you go," she says as she smoothes down my shoulder-length blonde hair.

She then sits down on my bed and looks at the television in my room. Any minute now it would switch on and I would prepare to press that red button. I think back to learning about how the reapings used to be held. I prefer the old way, the stage, the escorts, the guards. It just seems to be much more exciting and dramatic.

All I have to do is press a button, _how boring._

* * *

"...So here's to drinks in the dark at the end of my road..."

* * *

**District 8 Male **

**Rocko Warner (16 years old) **

_14 months ago_

The light from my torch shines on the dark walls of the office. I have to work with the torch as my only light source; even the street lights and the moon light don't reach this second-story room.

Every creak of the floor boards makes my heart jump but that's what I like about this, it's a thrill. An archaeologist lives here, it is obvious from all the different fossils and rocks which lie around the place, nothing of much value to me.

Then I notice _it_, shining on the wooden table.

I approach the table and pick up the murky old coin. I narrow my eyes as I observe it. On one side there was a face of a man, who it was I didn't know, it definitely wasn't President Snow. On the other side is some sort of bird, it isn't a bird I had seen or heard of. I purse my lips, _interesting. _Maybe the coin can bring me a small profit?

The sound of a door being unlocked grabs my attention, so I quickly pocket the coin and grab my belongings. I swing my leg out of the window, finding the pipe which travels below it. I climb down and run into the night.

No one will ever know _I_ was here.

_Present Day _

I was never able to sell that coin. It is still lay at the side of my bed. It is pointless but, at the same time, special. It must have come from a time which is no longer in the history books, before the rebellion, before the hunger games, even before the war.

"What do you think?" My friend, Ronnie, says.

I look up at him in confusion, "huh?" I wasn't really paying attention.

Ronnie chuckles, "you, me, him," he shoves his thumb in the direction Cerk, our other friend. "Robbery at the mayor's house after the reapings, rumour has it they're all going to a post-reaping party," he says.

I smirk and nod my head, "sounds good to me."

I hate the Mayor of District 8. If you are rich, he is the nicest man in the world. If you are like us and you are just 'average', he is the rudest man in the world. I happen to hate rude people and I only rob those who are 'terminally rude', it seems like that is almost everyone in these days.

"That's if none of us get's reaped," Cerk adds.

I look at him with a raised brow. I haven't thought about that possibility. To be honest, I haven't given much thought to the games.

A fight to the death, it isn't exactly ideal but it could be interesting. It could be even quite fun.

"There's over a thousand twelve to eighteen year olds in District 8, what are the odds?" Ronnie says and I nod in agreement.

It turns out the odds pointed to me.

The torch drops out of my hand and rolls along the hard wooden floor. I had just been preparing for the robbery with Ronnie and Cerk. They're at my house although they're supposed to be at their own homes, it's pretty much illegal for them to be here. We've never really cared about the laws anyway..

"Congratulations Rocko Warner!" the woman announces.

A mischievous smile grows on my lips as I look at the television. Haven't I always lived for violence and destruction? Now it's being handed to me on a plate. Sure, I'm not the strongest kid in the world, but I'm smart, I can play my mind games and find a way to win.

My fate has been chosen for me so I may as well enjoy The Hunger Games for what they're worth.

"Hide in the closet," I tell my friends. If they are caught outside their houses they will be in trouble, "and make sure you carry out that robbery," I smirk.

I notice how they look at me in shock, their mouths part slightly as they stare at me, unmoving. Cerk blinks a number of times before throwing his bag over his back.

"Yeah," he mutters under his breath.

Ronnie slowly walks over to me and pulls me into a hug, his hand giving me a slap on the back. Ronnie has always been my bestfriend and, if truth be told, I will miss him. But I will return. I will be back before they know it.

I give him a couple of comforting pats in return before moving away. "Hurry up," I order. They both nod before shoving themselves into the small coat closet in my house.

The men in black armour come for me soon after.

* * *

"...And I'm ready to suffer and I'm ready to hope..."

* * *

**District 10 Male **

**Samson Stavros (18 years old) **

_3 years ago_

I am in the ring, just me and the bull. All I see is the bull, its dark brown eyes as it gets ready to charge. It hooves brush against the hard grass. _Hroooonnh, hrooonnh. _

The twinkle in its eye tells me it's almost ready to charge. He is challenging me for a fight. My wrists flex once and the red cape flaps in the wind. That gets the bull going.

The bull charges, I wait for a little, standing perfectly still with a confident smirk on my face, until he is just a couple of metres away. Then, I avoid him and dance away from him, lifting the cape up with a windmill effect as I move. I am aware of the cheers from the crowd but I do not focus on them, instead, I focus on the confused bull as he turns to face me.

The next twenty minutes are filled with some impulsive, un-thought-out moves on my behalf that seem to work for me. Some people think bull fighting is full of planning and tactics, for me, my only 'tactic' is 'avoid the bull and win the fight'.

I can see the anger and desperation in the bulls face, it wants to win.

It is time for the grand finale.

I put the cape in front of me and hold it out. The bull will now be charging directly at me rather than to my side. I have not practised this but it should work out fine. I move my wrists in two swift motions and then- it charges.

I mustn't have moved quickly enough because before I know it, I am on the floor clutching my arm. The worse pain I have ever felt runs through me but I can't just sit there. The bull looks at me with bloodthirsty eyes. If it was a human being, I can imagine it smirking.

I slowly stand up and back away from the bull, not making any quick movements. If I run, the bull will only charge. It follows me to the gate but it is soon tied up and taken away to its cage.

That was a close call.

_Present Day_

If you thought that breaking my arm in that incident would have put me off bull fighting, you would be wrong. I was able to get my arm fixed up and now I am more determined than ever in the ring. My father once told me that the accident taught me a valuable lesson, to pay more attention to the bull, he was right. I haven't even come close to getting hit in the last three years.

Maybe I shouldn't do what I do but I crave the excitement and the stimulation and I just can't stay away. It has become a part of who I am.

"Come on kid, you can practice after the reaping," my Father says as he places a hand on my shoulder.

I am only leaning on the fence of the ring, admiring another bull fighter as he practises. This fighter looks as if he is dancing with the bull rather than fighting with it. Sometimes just being near the action is enough to fill my addiction.

I had been waiting for my father to finish off with some paper work he had lying around. He runs the bull ring in District 10 and he is the one who got me into bull fighting in the first place. He used to tell me about the days he fought in the ring. I remember watching him as a little kid. I think it was then that I fell in love with the excitement of the ring. Of course, I couldn't start fighting until I was twelve years old but even before then, I would jump around my room, pretending to be a bull fighter and imagining what that adrenaline would feel like.

I nod my head in agreement but then I see a friend of mine, Carly Styler. She works here at the ring, making my father her boss.

I smirk and stroll over to her, "Good morning Miss Styler."

Carly smirks right back at me, her eyebrow rising ever so slightly in the way it always does. "Morning Samson," she says.

Carly and I used to date, for a few weeks anyway. I've never been very good at sustaining a relationship. They seem like a good idea at first but after a few weeks, they just get a bit tiring and I want to start something new. Bull fighting is the only thing I have ever really stuck at.

"I was just locking up, ready for the reapings." She says as she locks a door to another office. "Shouldn't you be getting home anyway? They start soon."

I just shrug my shoulders in response, "I can hang on a moment."

"Samson!" My Dad calls. I turn to see that he has already begun walking down the hall which leads to the exit.

This time both of Carly's eyebrows raise and her lips form a smile, "clearly you can. See you soon Samson."

I nod my head. "See you soon," I say before catching up with my Dad.

* * *

"**...**It's a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat."

* * *

**District 9 Female**

**Rose Wingate (17 years old) **

"Look at what we have!" My mother announces as she walks into our 'front room'. It's just a small, squared room with wooden panels for walls and wooden flooring. There are a couple of wooden chairs against one wall and the other wall is taken up by our new High-Tec television. In a weird way, it kind of feels like a present from the capitol rather than a punishment.

My mother places a full loaf of fresh bread on the table before us. The smell is comforting and delicious, a smell which makes my nose feel like it has fallen in love and my mouth waters for a single taste. Bread so fresh is a luxury, something we have to work hard for but it is something we look forward to.

I allow my family to take a piece before I do. I break a small chunk off the loaf before popping it into my mouth. It is soft and tastes like smooth bubbles in a cloud of cream,

"Thank you Mum," I say once I have finished with my mouth full. She smiles at me with a warm and genuine smile and kisses the side of my forehead.

There is a shot of light in the room and suddenly, the television flickers on. The image is of very poor quality- it is somewhat dotty- and flickering lines would often appear across the screen. I'm afraid that after three or four weeks of watching this, my head and eyesight is going to be permanently damaged.

"Welcome, welcome District 9 to the first hunger games! I am your host, Sandra Proietti and today I will be reaping one young man and woman to represent your District in this year's games! Let us start with the ladies!" she announces.

The woman is very beautiful. She has porcelain skin which contrasts with her black hair and black lips. District 13's signature gold isn't overwhelming on her. There is just a simple complementing gold line below her eyes and a small golden pattern on her lower lip.

"Congratulations Rose Wingate!"

It's like a stab in my heart, a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat. That's my name! I look at my parents, both of them sit with their lips slightly open and their eyes appear to pop out of their sockets. Their daughter's going to die and there is nothing they can do about it.

I am on the television screen, all of us are. We all look like we aren't breathing, which I guess I'm not. I'm sure District 13 already sees me as a dead girl.

I suppose I already see myself as a dead girl.

I swallow the lump in my throat and take a deep breath.

"It's okay," I tell my mother who I can tell is tearing up a bit. This is my fate and nothing can change that.

"Now for the boys," Sandra Proietti says. I watch intensely, everything matters now. It's a matter of life or death and I am currently scared for my life.

"Tiger Angel!"

That's when my world really stopped spinning and time stood still. I think I'm even more scared after hearing his name than I was after hearing my own. Tiger Angel, I know him well. At least, I know _of_ him. I've never actually spoke to him personally, I have been too scared to do that.

He is the leader of the most notorious gang in District 9. There have been rumours going around that he has killed people but the peacekeepers don't pay any attention to them rumours. If they are true, then he has already had more experience than me and I assume more experience than most people.

He is a dangerous individual. You can tell by just looking at him. My mother once told me to never judge someone by their appearance, but his dark eyes, thick over-grown brown hair and skin which almost appears grey just screams _**'killer'**_.

I wonder if there will be any more dangerous tributes. If there is, I'm a goner_. I'm a goner anyway._

* * *

"**It's hard to dance with the devil on your back so shake him off."**

* * *

**A/N-** I didn't have any characters I wished to explore in this chapter so you just got the four tributes. Sorry about that. Also, sorry about the three week wait, I thought I would have been able to update before I went away but that didn't work out. But here I am now! Weekly updates will continue!

So, yeah, this is a shorter chapter but I still put a lot of work into it , so a review would be greatly appreciated!

Also, I can say that no one was successful in getting the arena which makes me very happy, that means I was successful in what I wanted to do with the hints. When the arena is revealed you can look back at the hints and be like 'oh yeahhh', hehehehe

One last thing, with the metaphor', a shot in the dark aimed right at my throat.' In Rose's POV- I couldn't resist :P ehe. Putting it here because authours notes within a paragraph annoy me :/

* * *

**Questions! **

**Favourite out of these tributes?**

**Favourite tribute out of all 12 tributes so far? **

**If I have already written your tribute, how did I do in their portrayal? (I tried my best in all portrayals but there were times when I was unsure how successful they were)**

* * *

Reviews are greatly appreciated and thank you for everyone who is reviewing, it means a lot, thanks!

Till next time (train rides, yay!) bye! x


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